Growing Up
by Knerzig
Summary: Sburb affects more the just its players.
1. Chapter 1

**"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP"**

The alarm blares its call, rousing the gentleman from his sleep. 5:30 am. He rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He looked at the calendar. April 13. Saturday morning. He had promised his mother he would accompany her to the joke store today. As a good son, he intended to honor that promise.

Taking a deep breath, he could smell muffins and cinnamon rolls. She never did miss an opportunity to bake. Even when she was raising him as a child,he could always expect confectionery rewards for good behavior, and as gifts on important days. He had decided long ago he would raise any kids he might have just as he was raised, with love, care, and respect. And a healthy dose of baked goods.

Getting ready for the day ahead, the man put shaving top on his top priority . It always gave him time to let his mind wander. But of all things for it to wander to, it goes to the last, and only real, relationship he's ever had. They had dated all throughout high school, and college. They had even gotten married. His mother was so proud of him that day. But it all fell apart when they decided they wanted children. After trying for months, they decided to consult a doctor, where they learned he was infertile due to some genetic abnormality. Because he couldn't have kids, his wife decided to divorced him, years ago today in fact, and the whole ordeal is now a painful memory.

But that was okay. He had his mother still, and he shouldn't be wasting another moment of this day. Her birthday only comes once a year!

Having finished his daily routine, he headed down to the kitchen. On the table were three cakes, two plates of cookies and muffins, and a tray of cinnamon rolls. Only she could bake so much before 6 in the morning. And only she would bake her own birthday cake!

"Good morning! How is my big strong boy doing today!"

Turning around, he saw his mother coming out of the study. She must have heard him wake up, and got her self ready to leave. She was smiling cheerfully, happy to spend her birthday with her son.

"I'm fine, Mother. I thought we were going to bake your birthday cake together?"

"I know, but I just couldn't wait! I wa so excited! We can bake another one when we get home. Go get some food, and let's be on our way! We have so much to do today!"

That's his mother, 86 years old to day, and still, as full of life as ever. He wouldn't doubt if she lived to be 100! But she was right. No reason to stand around when there was a whole itinerary set for the day!

Grabbing a muffin, his keys, and his favorite hat, they set off to enjoy their wonderfully planned day. And the first stop was their favorite joke store. His mom has had her eye on an unabridged version of a certain famous prankster's book. Today, nothing would stop her from getting it. Not even the sky falling would stop her today!

They made some small talk on the short drive there. The good mother she was, she knew what was on his mind earlier.

"I'm so proud of the fine young man you've grown up to be! Any women who doesn't think you are a good catch must either be married, or gay!"

"Mother! I'm fine, I told you. She made her choice, and I've come to terms with it. I already have a loving and caring women in my life."

"When do I get to meet her?"

Always making jokes. But he would not let her make today about him. He would keep it focused on her.

"Look in a mirror, and you will."

"You see? Complimenting their mother. No one does that anymore! You'll find someone, I just know it!"

"Of course mother. Here we are. Let's go get your book."

They pulled into the parking lot for the "Prankster's Gambit" It was a nice sized store, with merchandise and services ranging from trick decks, to Vegas quality magic tricks, to large unabridged joke books.

Which his mother basically ran straight for.

Right over to the books. She was staring at the book, on the top shelf, far out of her reach.

"Let me get it for you mo-"

"No! I can get it! Let me get it! I want to get it!"

So excited! It was like she was a child again!

She began hunting around the store for a step ladder.

"I want to get my book! I'm getting that book today! Get me a ladder! Get me all the ladders! I'm getting my book today!"

He had to laugh. His mother was acting so ridiculous. She was like a kid on a candy store! She was getting that book down herself even if it killed her!

Which, given the size of the book, was a possibility. He tried to reason with her again.

"Mother, it's a big book, just let me get it for you. Look I can reach it without a step la-"

"No! It's my birthday! I want to get it down myself! I'm old! Not helpless! I'll have it down as soon as I find a step ladder! Or an employee to stand on."

It was no use. She was getting that book herself.

"Okay, I'll be over by the mystery novels. Let me know when you've got your book, and please don't stand on any employee's. They're not your butlers or maids."

She agreed, and continued her hunt for something to climb. He walked over to the mystery novels. He had suggested they carry a few, and so a small selection was kept by the front of the store, next to a wavy mirror.

He began looking to see if any new books had come in, when he saw a flash of pink in the mirror. He did a double take. He still saw it.

He quickly turned, and saw a woman in a white, fashionable lab coat standing outside, holding a small baby. She had a pink scarf around her neck. She was staring at something in the store.

He couldn't be sure, but it looked like it was something near him. What ever it was, it was making her put on a devilishly sly grin!

Another moment passed, then he realized she was staring at him!

Oh dear. Did he have some muffin on his face? He looked in the mirror. His chin was the size of New York. That really didn't help him feel confident. Glancing back out the window, she was still there, and still staring. She looked to be smiling even more now, like she knew what he was thinking, and found it amusing.

Looking back at is mother, she was placing a step ladder down at the base of the bookshelf. He really should make sure she's okay. It's a really big book! But then someone else offered her help

"Ma'am, here, please, let me help yo-"  
"No! I can get the book on my own! Just stand back and watch how it's done!"

You know what? She'll be fine!

Smiling a bit, he walked out the front of the store as the employee his mother rebuffed said if she needed help, he'd be out back having a smoke.

He walked up to the young woman, and asked for her name.

"Lalonde" she replied. "Ms. Lalonde. And yours, handsome?"

He was taken aback by her brazenness, but he found it rather enticing!

"Mr. Ebert. What brings you by this way, MS. Lalonde?"

Before she could respond, a loud crack, a wave of pressure and heat, and the force of a sudden impact hit home. He woke up seconds later, on the ground and covered in rubble. Standing up, he saw the woman was gone. Her pink scarf was on the ground, probably left behind in the chaos.

And the joke store was gone too. Leveled. A hole in the ground was all that was left. His mother, with it. The last of the good in his life, his dear, sweet mother. Gone. No. She couldn't be! They were supposed to go get breakfast! They still had a cake to bake! She promised they would bake a cake together! She couldn't be gone!

But she was.

Stumbling to the crater, he peered in. There she was. Still. Face down in the dirt. Somehow she was still whole.

Perhaps she was still alive!

He clambered down the side of the crater, down to his mother.

"Mother! Mother!"

He cried out to her, but he received no response.

As he got closer, he could see she wasn't breathing. She was perfectly still.

She was gone.

He felt weak. His knees gave out, and he collapsed down next to her. He couldn't help but cry. Crawling over to her body, he tugged on her dress, to see if maybe it was some elaborte prank. Maybe, she was just joking, and she'd get up, and laugh, and he'd get to see those light blue eyes of hers shining and full of life.

He tugged again.

Nothing.

He flipped her over. Her glasses were broken, her dress muddy. Here eyes were closed. He couldn't stop himself from crying like a child. Would she still be proud of him? Her big strong son, crying like a baby in a hole?

Wait a second.

He wasn't crying like a baby.

He stifled his own sobs for a second, to see if he was hearing things.

He was right! There was a baby crying!

Maybe that woman lost her child?

He tried to find out where the crying was coming from. It sounded like...from...his mother?

He looked down at his mother, to see she was not crying, but indeed her dress was.  
As small bump by the foot of her dress caught his attention, as it was sniffiling, and appeared to be flailing about.

Moving the dress aside to see, he found a small baby! He was perfectly unharmed, and clean! He wasn't crying anymore, and was instead happily cooing, with a large, kind of silly smile on his face.

"How did you get down here, little fella?"

As he went to picked the boy up, he saw his eyes. As blue as the sky. They reminded him of his mother's. So kind, and full of joy. He looked back down at her.

She had the book she was getting clutched in her hands. He didn't want it, he should pry it from her hands and burn it. That book is the reason they were here, the reason his mother died! He didn't want it, to remind him every day he saw it of how he lost the most important person to him!

As he got up to grab the book, his foot hit something. Another book.

He sighed a bit. What now, he thought to himself.

The child was sitting on it, so he picked the boy up, and then the book, buried a bit in dirt.

As he unearthed it, he noticed a familiar cover. He stopped, and looked at the book in his mother's hands.

The same cover.

But, the store only had the one copy! It could only have the one copy! It was the only one in existence! It was a one of a kind, single print book that only those deep in the prankster community knew about! How could it be down there when his mother was holding it right in front of him?

He set the boy down on the book his mother was holding, so he could pull the second copy out.

It was the same book, but it was much older, and more beat up. He opened the book, to check the print date.

"Hey! Are you alright down there?!"

He didn't hear him. He was too busy staring at the words on the page. Words penned in his mother's handwriting.

"Sir?! Are you and your mother alright?!"

He kept staring at the page, then found himself for a moment

"I-er...No. We're not..."

"Emergency Services are on there way! Just, stay there!"

He couldn't move even if he wanted to.

He set the book down next to the baby.

He was so confused, and sad, and conflicted.

Where did this baby come from? And this book? What happened? His mother was dead! He was alone. There was no one left for him. His mother was all he had. He couldn't remember that woman's name. She had told him, but, he couldn't remember. Not with all that has happened, in such a short time. He looked back at the boy, his mother's body, the two books.

Everything began to sink in, just as the siren's wail reached his ears.

He wasn't alone. He had a son.


	2. Chapter 2

The door closed with solid thud. The house was quiet. Even the baby was quiet. Asleep, actually. He had fallen asleep on the way home from the hospital. He set him down gently on the couch, and began walking to the kitchen. He hadn't eaten all day. He crossed the door way into the kitchen to see all the baked goods his mother made still there, as if waiting for her to return. The pain of losing his mother caught back up to him. Leaning back against the wall, he let out soft, quiet sobs.

Food no longer seemed important. He wanted to be anywhere but the kitchen right now. He walked back over to the baby, to see how he was doing. Still sleeping soundly. He got a blanket out and wrapped him up, and tucked him into the couch. He wasn't really sure why he decided to take the child in. He had no idea how to raise a kid. He didn't have any of the necessities. He didn't even have a name for him.

It had been a long day. He needed sleep. Walking the seemingly endless staircase to the upper level, he felt like he was forgetting something. He passed by his mother's room, door still open. Despite knowing it would solve nothing, and against all reason, he went in. Everything was just as she left it. Every little thing screamed at him, reminding him she was gone. He couldn't escape it. The reminders were everywhere. Feeling his sadness begin to rise again, he quickly retreated to his own room.

As soon as he closed the door,he collapsed on to the floor, and began sobbing uncontrollably. He still was reeling, trying to grasp that she was gone, but he just couldn't. Why did things happen how they did? Why was she gone? Why did they have to go to the shop so early? Why didn't he just take the book down for her? He shouldn't have left the store. Why did he leave the store? Why did he let her try and get that book by herself? That was stupid of him. He should have stayed and helped his mother like a good son! Not gone trotting after some woman like a selfish brat! Why did he have to have been so selfish?!

The room began to feel hot, and everything seemed to be laughing at his pain, at his torment. He could here the laughter and jeering in his head. He turned to the wall, hoping to avoid seeing anything. When he opened his eyes, he saw the last thing he wanted to see. His own face, mocking his sorrow. Taunting him. Letting out a shout of rage, he grabbed the full body mirror, and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, raining shards down,reflecting a world as broken as the one he felt himself to be in. The mirror still retained enough surface to continue leering at him. Feeling his anger swell, he strode over, and kicked the rest out. Seeing hundreds of him staring up at him only served to fuel the red haze he was seeing through. He started crushing glass shards under his feet, and then screamed, and flipped his entire bed over. As he did so, his night stand fell down, its contents spilling in to the puddle of glass.

His eye caught got the glimmer of a reflection. Expecting more mirror, he turned to crush it, and was met with a familiar bespectacled face. He stopped and stared at her face. All the anger drained from him. Would she be proud of this? Is this the son she raised? He fell to his hands and knees, uncaring of the glass and pain. Picking up the picture, he took it out of its now broken frame, and held it. What did he have to do to change what happened? He would give any thing to have her back. It was his fault. He always wanted a child. This was his punishment for taking his mother for granted like he did. she should have been enough. But he had to be selfish, and he had to want a child. Maybe, if he wished for what ever hand of fate which gave him the baby to take it back, she'd be returned to him? He didn't want a child anymore. Not if it meant losing his mother.

"Please, bring her back to me. Please."

He began to plead, cradling the picture. His face was a river of tears, and knees covered in glass and blood. The feeling of anger gone, emptiness took its place. All good in his life had gone. What good was he to that infant below, sleeping peacefully? He could never give him the love and care he'd deserve. He'd only remind him of all he had lost. The empty feeling had grown too all consuming, and again collapsed. Glass pierced him all over. The pain they caused was so distant, though, and his body so numb. The blood that began to flow didn't feel like his own.

As he lay in his self made sea of red, his thoughts again turned angry, and increasingly violent. He killed her. His decisions are what led to his mother's death. It was his fault. He began to pound his fists into the glass. cuts and blood soaked his hands. his white carpet was stained red. Tears mixed with the blood, sobs with cries of pain and anguish. He stopped suddenly. No. It wasn't his fault. He wasn't responsible for his mother's death.

The child was. He is why she died. He knew, deep down, that wasn't true. But his mind had already latched on, and his anger was louder then reason. He needed to get revenge for his mother. He would kill her murderer. He was sleeping just downstairs. The black and violent thoughts took hold, and his body began to listen. He grabbed a large piece of mirror, and and stood up. The room was in a haze. Everything was wavering, the floor tilted from side to side. But he held his balance, and turned around to face to door. He stepped through the glass, and pushed the over turned bed to the side. He walked through the bedding, trailing blood through the linens. Just before he reached the door, though, he tripped over something large and heavy.

Falling down face first into the ground, the glass in his hand shattered, leaving deep cuts in his hand, and across his face. The sudden pain shocked him out of his anger. He couldn't believe what he was about to do! He was about to kill an innocent child, because he felt it was his fault his mother died. He was a disgrace to his mother's memory. And now he was bleeding out on the floor of his room. And he deserved to. He let his anger endanger the life and safety of a child. This was coming to him. This was his punishment.

A thought briefly flashed through his mind.

"What did I trip on?"

Looking back, he saw the two large joke books. That's what he forgot! The hospital crew had taken some of his personal belongings back to his house while he was there! They must have left them on his bed! How ironic that the book that lead to his mother's death saved him from doing something he would have deeply regretted. He laid back down, to let the numbness take him. The pain would be gone soon, and he'd be with his mother again.

Again.

Again...

That word kept nagging him. Why? Why did if feel important? Be with his mother again? Why was it nagging him. He couldn't die until he knew why now. What was it? He forced himself to sit up, and thought for a moment why it was important. Why were these random words starting to crop up in his mind?

Again. John. Heir. Breath. Father.

He felt he'd read them somewhere. Perhaps it was the blood loss getting to him. Perhaps he was starting to die. He didn't know how it felt to die of blood loss. It'd never happened to him before! He decided to just lay back down and forget about them. instead of returning to where he was, he just fell back wards, away from the door. And onto the book.

The nagging returned. Was it in the book? He sat back up, and turned to face the books. The feelings of emptiness and anger were gone. Everything was just numb now. He felt nothing looking at the books. He opened the clean one. He wasn't sure why he mother was so keen on getting it. She just was so instant. Then he opened the dirty and charred one, that was with the baby. His heart skipped a beat. Her writing. With the swirls and all. The feeling all came back as he read it.

"Dear John,"  
He read the passage written in it again and again. Denizens. Heir of Breath. Exiles. Kernelsprites. None of it made sense to him. Except near the end.

"John, if only you knew how important you were! I regret my passing came so early in your life. And yet I feel in my heart we have already met. But what I know for sure is that we will meet again!

Until then, John, I do hope your Father keeps you well fed! "

Meet again. John. Father.

This book came with the baby. It said something else... what as it...something about a journey? Yes. This book made a journey that ended on her final day. So that means his mother had to die. Nothing could change it. But she'll return! She'll come back! He wasn't sure how she would, but he didn't care! She had written this! He checked the other book, to see if it was written in there as well. It was clean, and clear of any messages for future decedents.

He read the last line again.

"Until then, John, I do hope your Father keeps you well fed!"

That's right. He was a father now. He had a responsibility. Responsibility to his son. No, to his John. He couldn't die now. That child- John, needed him. He closed the book, and placed both of them on his dresser. He then walked out of his room, into his bathroom, and began to clean his cuts.

While he was dressing the cuts on his face, he heard a wail grow from downstairs. John! He had slept through all that rage and emotion! Quickly finished the dressing, he made his way down to John. He still had no idea how to care for a baby. He picked John up. His hands screamed in pain, but he held on, and brought John close to him.

"Shhh, what's the matter John. What's wrong? Are you hungry? No? Do you need changed? or are you just lonely? Yeah, that's it, isn't it? Me too, John. Me too. How about we go bake together John? It's a special day, you know. The most special of days."

John had already stopped crying, and was quietly staring. Smiling, the gentleman took the baby into the kitchen. It really was the most special of days today.

It was 11 P.M. on Saturday, April 13th, 1996. And today was his son's birthday.


End file.
